We went back to silence until Jessica came back by with another drink, complete with her phone number written on the napkin.

“I’m not going on a double date,” Evan said as I tucked the napkin into my pocket. “You want me to fly them out? Not a problem. Schedule it with Jackson. But that’s the extent of my professional responsibilities. And, since I’m off the clock right now, I’d also like to mention that I think whatever play you’re planning to run on that woman is fucked up.”

My head snapped to his. “I’m sorry. Play?” I asked with more attitude than I had originally planned.

“Yes. Play,” he sneered.

I stirred my drink. “Let me get this straight. I’m offering to fly her out in a private jet, feed her dinner at one of the best restaurants in the city, and put her front row at a concert that has been sold out for over a year. That doesn’t seem like a play to me. It sounds like I’m trying to do something nice for a woman I was rude to earlier.” I casually leaned back in my seat. “My conscience doesn’t ‘play’ when it comes to apologies.”

“Right. Well, maybe you should have a chat with your conscience, because she looks like she just won the date of a lifetime. Meanwhile, you don’t even like women.” He stalled, no doubt looking for just the right word to express his disgust without sounding like a bigot. Judging by his gentleness when we’d taken off, he wasn’t the type of guy to go for the fag bomb.

I watched him intently, excited to see how he was going to handle this.

“You’re gay.”

I frowned at his lack of creativity. “Not that it’s any of your damn business. But I’ll have you know I love women.”

It wasn’t a lie. I adored women. Especially Levee and Robin.

I just didn’t like pussy. Meh. Semantics.

He gaped. “You’re bi?”

“And I’ll repeat: None of your damn business. But yeah. Do you have a problem with that?”

Again, it wasn’t necessarily a lie.

Was I bisexual? Fuck no. My cock was in no way an equal opportunity employer.

I was somewhat bilingual though. I knew how to ask for a blow job in English and Spanish. I pretended that was what he meant.

Chupame la verga.

About the Author:

Aly Martinez

Born and raised in Savannah, Georgia, Aly Martinez is a stay-at-home mom to four crazy kids under the age of five, including a set of twins. Currently living in South Carolina, she passes what little free time she has reading anything and everything she can get her hands on, preferably with a glass of wine at her side.

After some encouragement from her friends, Aly decided to add “Author” to her ever-growing list of job titles. Five books later, she shows no signs of slowing. So grab a glass of Chardonnay, or a bottle if you’re hanging out with Aly, and join her aboard the crazy train she calls life.